


Breathing (Just A Little)

by Nununununu



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Caretaking, Cooking, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: The sight of him should not be so appealing.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Bodhi Rook
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	Breathing (Just A Little)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/gifts).



> For Penknife, with thanks for the lovely prompts. 
> 
> Canon divergent AU in that everyone lives, set some time after Scarif but before the destruction of the Death Star. Title adapted from the quote by Mary Oliver _"Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?"_ (from the poem 'Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches').
> 
> (Date adjusted for author reveals; orig posted 10/05).

Cassian has snowflakes caught in his eyelashes.

Bodhi can’t help but glance at the other man, even as he navigates the small open-topped transport through the twisting maze of cobbled city streets. The delicate flakes are dappling Cassian’s hair, coating him in their chill, his face luminous in the silver glow of the intermittent street lamps; his eyes, in contrast, very dark. The snow seems to accentuate his tiredness, the atypical paleness of his skin and the hollow of his cheekbones; the thin line of his mouth and the narrow curve of his chin. Looking at him causes a shiver to chase across Bodhi’s own skin – Cassian’s minus his usual padded jacket, clad in the kind of thin civilian clothes he wears only for certain types of undercover missions; doing nothing for once to conceal his unhappiness.

The sight of him should not be so appealing.

Cursing himself for being a terrible person and an even worse friend, Bodhi makes himself look away. Looks back again a moment later, powerless. Cassian’s changed to resting his arm against the raised side of the transport, his forehead propped against his wrist as he gazes out at the night.

“I, ah –” Bodhi tries to make himself summon words, to find something to say that will draw Cassian back into movement and life –

Only to fail. Speech shrivelling up inside him unreachably, his throat closing up in the face of Cassian’s quiet.

While Bodhi has no doubt that the bone deep core of strength and determination that usually fuels the other man still resides somewhere inside him, it’s like all the emptiness that sometimes seems to assail Cassian has overwhelmed it, choosing now to rise up out of him at once. The emptiness seems pooled in his gaze, emphasised by the shadows licking at the contours of his fine-boned features; shading the breath he lets out. There’s something terribly compelling about the fall of his open collar, the vulnerability of his neck and the glimpse of exposed clavicle.

Cassian, in the snow, seems almost translucent; breakable.

The transport skims over the silent streets and Bodhi breathes in the lateness of the hour, and tells himself not to want.

The snow continues to fall, ceaseless, and he pilots the little craft intuitively, without conscious thought, his movements smooth and automatic, much like they were back before Galen, before Scarif. The kind of flying where his hands forget to shake, all of his doubts and uncertainties tangled up in Cassian instead of his own past traumas and painful memories – although there is one thing Bodhi is certain about.

The only important thing really, the only thing that truly matters – which is that his friend is suffering. Bodhi can’t deny the compulsion thrumming inside him to _do_ something, to offer help.

Whether Cassian will accept any such help or not is another thing.

“We’re – we’re here,” Bodhi manages on the second try, after clearing his throat, “Time to split up.”

Cassian dips his chin in a slight nod, noticeable only because – once again – Bodhi is looking.

Drawing the transport to a halt a planned number of streets away from the safe house, he returns the gesture as Cassian climbs out, and goes to dispose of the little craft himself before approaching their destination from a different route.

It’s even later when Bodhi arrives therefore, late enough that many of the street lamps have extinguished, and the presence of a neatly applied code panel next to the entrance door stymies him for a second. The trace of fresh putty it is sealed with implies Cassian, as does the discreet wiring leading from it around the frame, near invisible to anyone who doesn’t think to look. Certain that the thing conceals an explosive in addition to an alarm, Bodhi rubs his beard with gloved fingers, thinks of what he knows of his friend. He inputs the last code _Rogue One_ had used before the Rebellion saw them split apart: Baze and Chirrut off locating and training vulnerable survivors whisked away from the Empire, K-2SO on an infiltration mission with Jyn both of them had pretended to be entirely unwilling about, the latter complaining even as she strapped on extra blasters and K-2SO packing additional explosives even as he predicted dire odds.

Thinking of their friends helps Bodhi’s breath come more easily. The code is an obvious choice and a little dangerous for it as such, but he hears the panel click open and feels heartened anyway.

The blaster pointed at him when he steps through the door serves to reassure him further, Cassian seated at the end of the short corridor on the floor much like his legs simply chose not to take him into the room at the end, the weapon braced across one knee.

“Bodhi,” He aims it away from Bodhi immediately, placing it on the floor close at hand.

“Cassian,” A smile of relief twitches Bodhi’s lips, for this is a good thing – Cassian, more responsive than he was earlier, and speaking, saying Bodhi’s name. He nods back towards the panel on the door, “You’re getting unimaginative.”

“For that you can rewire the panel on the inside,” A flicker of faint answering amusement deepens the line to one side of Cassian’s mouth by a few degrees, although that hollowness is still there, that emptiness, and he rests his head back against the doorframe on his next soundless exhalation, his gaze straying away again.

His hair is damp from the slowly melting snow, droplets darkening the material of his shirt. The room beyond him is an unlit void; he’s made no attempt to turn on the aged heater fixed to the wall opposite him.

“Sure,” Chewing his lower lip a little, Bodhi prises the panel free, briefly examines the device and then attaches it to the inside of the entrance door, turning the rusty lock for good measure, and then glancing over at Cassian to see if he’s got an opinion as he inputs a better code, one he is certain the other man will know.

Cassian’s got his knees drawn up, his feet still in his boots, an elbow propped on a knee and his hand shielding his mouth, his gaze unseeing. He’s also all but blocking the way into the little room, so Bodhi lingers awkwardly where he is for a moment once the entrance door is as secure as he can make it, visually sweeps the corridor for any form of bug despite his certainty Cassian has already done this, and then informs himself he’s being ridiculous and kicks off his own boots. Scuffed and worn in, the soles cracked underneath, the soles of his socks wet where melted snow has made its way inside.

“Don’t – um, don’t mind me,” Bodhi skirts past Cassian, swallowing indecisively before slapping the aged heater on. It splutters, bringing up dust until he thumps it, and then chugs reluctantly into life, “That’s better.”

Hopefully it will eventually crank out enough warmth to help stop Cassian looking half frozen. Although –

He’s from Fest, isn’t he, a cold planet, so perhaps it doesn’t bother him. Bodhi glances at the last of the snowflakes clinging to Cassian’s thin shirtsleeves, the hand still half-concealing his face, and thinks that, rather than the icy temperature not bothering Cassian, perhaps he is simply beyond noticing it.

“Hmm,” Locating the panel to turn on the overhead light in the little room, Bodhi takes in the tiny kitchen area over to one side – comprised of a single burner and a bowl for a sink – the squat chest found in most Rebel safe houses, hopefully containing at least a med kit and a couple of spare uniforms, a small box of what should be long-lasting food supplies on top of it, and –

There’s only one bed.

Well, he can sleep on the floor. Squaring his shoulders, Bodhi tugs his coat off despite the fact he can see his breath inside the little room, shivers, and repeats his hunt for anything unwanted, knowing once again that there is no way Cassian will not have already done this, but unable nonetheless to refrain. He gets the equally aged heater in the room working at well, after tinkering with its dirty innards for a while, and goes to wash his hands in the near cupboard-sized refresher once he’s done.

His reflection in the mirror over the sink draws attention to the circles under his eyes, the stress lines on his forehead, the undeniable grey that crept in to web his hair after Scarif. He’s managed to put some weight back on though, after the stint in medbay they all shared to more or less a degree, and he’s only waking up from nightmares a couple of times a week now. Sometimes he even succeeds in several hours unbroken sleep.

Speaking of which –

Glancing over his shoulder at the single bed as he tugs the band free and finger combs his hair out so it can dry, Bodhi grimaces a bit. Everyone back at base has undoubtedly been woken by his screaming, but the thought of disturbing Cassian while sharing such close quarters is –

Well, he can always just stay awake all night. He’s done it a fair few times in the past, especially back when he was fresh out of medbay but some of the others were still in there, staying by their sides or wandering the base, venturing outside into the dark if he dared.

Another shiver whispering over his skin, Bodhi chafes his arms and goes to poke at the burner in the hope of making caf.

The stuff provided at safe houses is inevitably disgusting, but he unearths two blends from the box – a luxury of choice – and measures an amount of each, mixing them together until the smell is still faintly stale but distinctly more palatable. Concentrating as he is on pouring boiling water into two tin cups, he startles when something – a sudden weight – impacts lightly against his upper back.

“ _Ah_ –” Bodhi all but jumps out of his skin.

Cassian. It’s Cassian. Having crossed the room entirely unnoticed, manifesting behind Bodhi like a tangible ghost, entirely unexpectedly dropping his forehead down between Bodhi’s shoulder blades.

He’s never done anything like this before.

“Sorry,” Cassian’s voice is low, quiet, much more like a monotone than his usual tone, although there’s something there to it – something that wasn’t there earlier, when Bodhi stepped in through the door to the safe house. “It –” Tension and misery are practically rolling off him, “It’s smells. Better than expected.”

“It’s still not going to taste that good,” Not daring to move that much lest he dislodge the other man, Bodhi sets Cassian’s cup just to one side of the tiny kitchen area, just enough that it’s obvious Cassian should pick it up if he wants. So trapped there for a moment – and yet, for once, amazingly, Bodhi doesn’t feel _trapped_ – he lifts his own cup to his mouth and blows on it, enjoying the heat from the steam as it bathes his face.

“Your hair is down,” Cassian says, slightly muffled.

“You can’t possibly see it like that,” Bodhi can only laugh a little, because this is the point where Cassian stands upright and moves back, and it’s absurd that he feels disappointed.

He tells himself it should be absurd.

“I can feel it,” Cassian might, just possibly, be smiling very slightly. His hand comes up, not to take his caf and then leave, but instead to squeeze Bodhi’s bicep, a touch that rockets straight through Bodhi into his gut. He’s hard pressed not to react to it, not to jerk instinctively forwards – not because he doesn’t want to be touched; he _does_ want it, at least where Cassian is concerned – but because that’s how his body responds these days, how it has done ever since Bor Gull–

_No._

Bodhi thinks of the fact he nearly banged his knees into the tiny kitchen unit the burner is balanced upon, of the feel of Cassian’s measured breaths tickling at the material of his clothes, of anything other than what he almost just thought.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian says again, quieter, as if he somehow knows exactly what Bodhi just flashed back to, and perhaps he does, given he can probably feel just how stiff and still Bodhi is holding himself. Which –

Damn it. Bodhi presses his index finger to his thumb, second finger to his thumb, third finger, continuing the pattern as Cassian moves back.

“Thanks for this,” Picking up his drink, Cassian begins to turn away, Bodhi managing to stir himself, hand darting out to reach after him that moment too late.

“You’re welcome,” _Damn it_.

Cassian is already crossing to the room’s window to glance out into the night in the gaps between the shutters covering the glass. Retreating back into his quiet, the cup steaming untouched in his hand, the steam drifting up to wreathe his face.

“Why don’t you use the refresher,” Bodhi suggests a bit desperately, fearing he’s losing the other man to that hollow unhappiness all over again, telling himself it’s none of his business –

It _is_ his business, at least to an extent. He’s not classified to ask what happened, just what Cassian did on that mission – he wouldn’t want to bring it up anyway – just as Cassian doesn’t ask what Bodhi was assigned to do while on this planet before extracting him, but –

But Cassian is his friend. And as such Bodhi reminds himself he isn’t out of line to care about him.

He cares –

A little too much, probably. And Cassian isn’t someone to want or accept someone fussing over him. 

“Mm,” Cassian shakes his head very slightly, motioning for Bodhi to go ahead, and so Bodhi feels obliged to go, hunching his shoulders at the cramped confines of the tiny chamber, propping the door open half an inch, never able to bear locking himself in.

He takes a quick shower, relaxing despite himself at the heat of the water after the first few minutes, feeling steadier for the simple act of cleaning himself, able to mostly ignore the way his hands shake. It’s nothing in particular or, rather, it’s nothing new, and he doesn’t fumble with the soap anymore or just stand there staring at the water spiralling down the drain, water that was so precious on Jedha, and remembering the rains –

Bodhi finds a dry towel and a pair of regulation pyjamas on the floor just outside the door when he opens it a crack further, realising he forgot to think of such things. Cassian’s still at the window, as if someone else extracted the items from the chest and placed them there instead of him.

“Th-thanks,” Bodhi’s voice cracks and he winces, berating himself a little that, for all his desire to take care of Cassian, Cassian has ended up taking care of him.

“You’re welcome,” There’s a trace of humour clearer in Cassian’s voice though, with something like a touch of warmth alongside it. The air in the room is warmer too when Bodhi’s dressed himself and towel-dried his wet hair, tugging some of his discarded upper layers back on over the pyjamas.

He’s pleased when Cassian concedes to take his turn in the refresher next and the quiet sound of the water provides a backdrop to Bodhi’s subsequent investigation of their food rations. They’re to lay low on Draven’s orders for at least a day, and while Bodhi has to push down a stir of discomfort at the thought of being unable to go outside, he can’t deny that it is almost pleasant, in a way, to be compelled to shut out the world for a bit –

And to have Cassian to share this bit of time with.

Given the other man would probably prefer anything but, Bodhi chides himself before re-focusing on the basic ingredients he rustles up.

“Here,” He’s standing in front of the little burner when Cassian emerges from the refresher, his own hair clean and slicked back, “What do you think of this.”

“Hm?” Cassian pads over to peer over Bodhi’s shoulder, this time stopping a short distance away and not touching, casting an eye over the blended grains mix, powdered milk and a couple of other items Bodhi has set out. None of them particularly palatable on their own, but an idea is surfacing from the back of his mind, if Cassian doesn’t seem to dislike it –

“Softbreads?” Cassian sounds mildly surprised, but not negative. He sets his cup next to the burner – empty – and picks up the little packet of spices Bodhi dug out of the back of the box, “These are –” He sniffs them, “Not great.”

“Were you expecting them to be?” A laugh hovers in the edges of Bodhi’s response, tension seeping out of him now it seems his idea wasn’t a bad one, “Come on, you can help make the filling.”

“Fine,” Cassian’s eyeing Bodhi’s loose hair again when Bodhi shoots a look at him, and there’s a moment when they catch each other doing it, something undefinable seeming to leap between them before Bodhi has to look away, a lick of heat in his cheeks, intently aware of Cassian biting his lip in his peripheral vision. “I haven’t had these in years.”

“Me neither,” Bodhi passes over the only bowl the safe house possesses and Cassian collects the spices and other things for the filling, and they do a bit of a dance around each other before they’re crammed in side by side, using whatever space they can, Bodhi soon floured up to his elbows as he makes the dough.

He ends up sitting on the floor to finish kneading it, jumping only a little when Cassian places a fresh cup of caf down next to his knee, sitting down next to him to pass over the filling. It’s fierier than Bodhi had expected, given what they had to work with, and there’s a hint of welcome sweetness to the aftertaste when he fails to resist the urge to stick a finger in and check.

“Good?” Cassian’s dark eyes are intent on his lips when Bodhi remembers himself and looks up.

“I, um –” He flusters at once, popping his finger out of his mouth to a long ago memory of his mother’s scolding, “Yes.”

“ _Good_ ,” Definite amusement shades Cassian’s gaze this time, the expression quite something to witness, his face containing more of its usual colour, at once familiar and yet different with his hair swept back as it is. A lock or two are falling forwards as they start to air dry, tumbling into something closer to his usual style, and Bodhi’s beset by the powerful urge to reach up and tuck them back, touching his fingers to his thumb one by one so he does not.

“Bodhi?” Cassian’s hands are working even though they’re both looking at each other, folding the filling into the softbreads, and there’s something oddly compelling about that, too – about the understated calm competence of it, when Bodhi has only ever seen Cassian mission-ready or striding off to report to those higher up, or planning the next op –

This is Cassian, he realises with a start of delighted surprise, close to relaxed.

“Y-yeah?” He has to shake himself, replying a fraction too late, aware that he’s looking too long.

“Come on,” Cassian gives Bodhi’s words from earlier back to him, “You can help with the cooking.”

“I thought I was already doing that,” Bodhi can’t help but return, and Cassian actually huffs in amusement, before pushing himself up and carefully offering Bodhi a hand. A look in his eyes that’s far from the awful misery from earlier, and neither pity nor challenge.

“Thanks,” After a heartbeat in which his various traumas fail to make him flinch back, Bodhi finds himself able to accept it, closing his fingers around his friend’s palm and allowing himself to be drawn to his feet, the plate of rounded softbreads held carefully in his other hand.

He finds himself very close to Cassian on straightening up, Cassian still leaning down slightly towards him, and –

It would be so easy, really, just to lean up and into him that bit further; for Bodhi to taste that nascent smile so wonderfully visible on Cassian’s lips.

The nudge of Bodhi’s toes against his cup distracts him, reminding him of his caf, and he has to stoop to pick it up, juggling the softbreads, thankful he hadn’t knocked the drink all over his and Cassian’s feet. Still, disappointment tugs at him as he stands back up the second time, cursing himself for having found an excuse to back down, to take the easy way out.

But if Cassian doesn’t want it, if he’s just being a good friend, the kind of friend Bodhi should be being to him –

“It’s all right,” Cassian says quietly, low enough that Bodhi has to wonder if he said it at all, and then he’s switching on the little burner, and placing the first of the softbreads on it to cook.

They eat together leaning against the base of the bed, sitting side by side, and the caf is still hot and even better than the version Bodhi made – although it’s possible he may be biased – and the softbreads comforting enough he has to pause around his first mouthful and just breathe through it for a bit.

“All right?” Cassian questions even more quietly, and this is the wrong way round, isn’t it, it’s not supposed to be about Bodhi. He glances up almost defiantly, ready to defend himself, and sees something almost pleased in response in Cassian’s eyes.

“ _Heh_ ,” Bodhi automatically goes to subside.

“No, you can – do correct me if I’m out of line,” Cassian says, and Bodhi has to shake his head on a sound of negation and go to explain just how out of line Cassian _isn’t_. Except –

Except the other man has paused to bite into his own softbread – a rare instance of Cassian eating without Bodhi or K-2SO or Jyn first reminding him of the need – and Bodhi’s throat seals over for a second time this night, albeit for a reason quite different from the first.

“This is –” Cassian’s dark eyelashes flutter in pleased surprise.

Far be it for him to provide an adjective despite his clear appreciation of the food, all the same. Bodhi’s lips twitch again, more this time, at the thought of the dry comment K-2SO would surely feel prompted to make.

“Hm,” Cassian’s already taking a second mouthful, chasing it with a swig of –

“Ah,” It’s _Bodhi’s_ caf. Heat leaps hard into his face at the thought that his mouth has been there, on the rim of the cup; _Cassian’s mouth is touching where his mouth has touched_.

Cassian realises the mistake a split second later, hastily swallowing, “ _Kriff_. Bodhi, I’m –”

“Keep it,” Bodhi has to interrupt the apology. He finds himself touching Cassian’s knuckles where he’s gripping the cup; intently conscious of the fact he’s _never_ seen Cassian lower his guard enough to slip up in such a manner, “It’s fine; go ahead.”

“It was supposed to be for _you_ ,” Cassian’s eyes narrow in a flash of characteristic stubbornness, proving he must be feeling somewhat better, and Bodhi lets out a little laugh, helplessly charmed.

“Eat your dinner,” he prompts, and proceeds to ignore the cup, setting in again on his own softbread, only startling a little when, sometime later, Cassian’s head nods down to brush his shoulder. He pitches his voice low, soft, “Cassian?”

“Mm,” Cassian’s head drops forwards this time, a hand coming up to pinch out his brow, “Damn it, I –”

“You’re exhausted,” He is. But still, for him to nearly fall asleep like this in someone else’s presence is absolutely unheard of. “Go on, into bed.”

There’s a note to Cassian’s voice that’s almost ornery this time, certainly one Bodhi’s never heard before, “I’m fine on the floor.”

“Like bantha shit you are. On the bed,” Bodhi’s comfortable enough himself now and with Cassian to insist. He plucks the cup from Cassian’s fingers before his friend can wake himself up enough to protest and sets it aside, “I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”

“So am I,” Cassian persists, something about him endearingly bleary but determined. For a moment they’re at a standstill, until he abruptly huffs out a laugh and shoves a hand through his hair, “Let’s not – argue this.” He goes so far as to let himself yawn, “Room for us both if we sleep on our – on our sides.”

“I kick,” Bodhi has to warn him, dreadfully tempted by the prospect despite knowing it’s a terrible idea in so many ways, “And have nightmares.” It’s far easier than he had expected to say, “And will probably wake you by –”

“I have nightmares too sometimes,” Cassian says in a way that probably means ‘many times, often’.

Just the fact he’s admitted as much in return is –

“I’ll wake you if you wake me, then,” Bodhi offers, his heart beating hard, breath shaking just faintly in a way that’s nothing to do with bad memories or fear. Because he knows Cassian, just as he knows himself, he adds, “Carefully.”

“ _Verbally_ ,” Cassian amends, rubbing an eye, and Bodhi has no chance at stopping himself whatsoever, reaching out before he knows it to touch a lock of that soft hair where it’s falling in the other man’s face.

“Bodhi –” Cassian freezes at once, but then he seems to melt almost, something liquid and almost – almost _yearning_ entering his gaze.

Bodhi has a flash of indecision, of thinking _it can’t be, he can’t possibly_ , but Cassian’s own hand is already burying in the long strands of his silver-streaked hair, Cassian tugging him towards him just a little like that; slowly, so Bodhi has plenty of time to move away.

Bodhi has no desire to move away whatsoever. Instead he tips himself in further towards Cassian and kisses him first, kisses the mouth that is no longer thin and flat but is now turning upwards, lips parting to let out a breath that isn’t one of surprise.

Closing his eyes, Cassian returns the kiss, surprisingly gentle, still holding back, still giving Bodhi the time and opportunity to change his mind and pull back.

Bodhi finds he can kiss him harder as a result; kisses him and feels as well as hears Cassian make the most wonderful noise, the sound of it spurring Bodhi on, growing brave enough to lick into Cassian’s mouth, only pulling back when his skin feels like it’s on fire and his lungs about to give out.

“Cassian –” He’s gasping.

“Bodhi,” Cassian’s dark eyes are filled with affection and tiredness and something very much like heat, like _want_ , and Bodhi’s insides tighten.

Still, he knows now isn’t the time for that.

“Into bed with you,” he repeats, grinning faintly, aware of the lines still etched into Cassian’s face and the smudges under his eyes fit to match Bodhi’s, and the heavy way he blinks. Knowing that what Cassian needs right now – what they _both_ need right now more than anything – is security and sleep.

Bodhi’s not about to presume about the next day.

But it’s something to consider with a little thrill of hope instead of dread, when they’ve each ducked into the tiny refresher and he ushers Cassian beneath the thin blankets, insisting when the other man tries to make out he can do without, and then, shivering slightly at the proximity, turns the light down and similarly slips in.

It’s dark in the room and quiet except for the rhythm of Cassian’s breathing, a little elevated for once. Both of them crammed in on their backs rather than arranged more comfortably on their sides, the taste of things gone unsaid along with that of the softbreads and plain regulation toothpaste and, amazingly, _Cassian_ , still lingering in Bodhi’s mouth.

“Can I –?” Cassian asks quietly. The whisper of his fingers over Bodhi’s knuckles under the covers is an offer, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Bodhi pushes over onto his side, in towards Cassian rather than away, biting down on a smile as their fingers slide together so they’re holding hands.

They’re very close together again, and there’s heat low in his stomach as well as his cheeks, but also feelings of _joy_ and _safety_ , feelings Bodhi hasn’t experienced for a very long time.

“Speak tomorrow?” Cassian murmurs – Cassian who never chooses to talk about anything – and the fingers of his other hand whisper gently over Bodhi’s jaw.

“Tomorrow,” Catching those fingers in his own, he brushes a kiss against the tips, relishing the audible catch to Cassian’s breath.

Settling down afterwards, Bodhi finds that sleep claims him far more easily than it has since – well, before everything, lulled by the steady presence that is Cassian next to him, Cassian feeling safe enough to also sleep, Cassian whose fingers are still linked with Bodhi’s in the small space between their bodies.

He sleeps throughout the rest of the night, as does Cassian, uninterrupted by dreams.

_Fin._


End file.
